Leipzig: Legos, Lemurs, and Lightly Salted Pommes Frites

The next stop on my winter travels was the east Germany city of Leipzig. With a history dating back to the Roman Empire and being known as the home and burial place for Bach, the city's history excited me.

Also I was visiting my dear friend, an exchange student I met six years ago in high school, Thomas Mösch (Moesch in English).

After a brief confusion in the main train station about where to meet (who knew there were three different McDonalds?) Thomas grabbed my pack, handed me a travel ticket for the weekend, and we headed back to his apartment. A small flat up six flights of stairs, with a kitchen the size of my shower and resembling what I always imagined young, energetic, poor, twenty somethings lived in in NYC. So of course I loved it immediately. I thought it adorable how the bathroom light flickered eerily, how the dishwasher was the width of my old PC, and how the top floor windows allowed a small balcony, and over looked the city and church spires. From his bedroom window you could spot the church Bach was buried at, the old city hall that looks like a castle I would very much like to live in, and the rest of the city that has seen countless wars, immigrants, monarchies, democracies, communism, and still the fading daylight bounced off the red tiled roofs, a warm glow embracing the new shopping mall built into old stone buildings.

The shopping was fantastic. And in a great location. The mall was huge, but the open area was even cooler. Built around a city block, with its alley ways enclosed with beautiful tile and sculptures, with courtyards opening up to monuments and churches, the shops that surrounded catered to everyone. Fossil, Armani, Prada, Coach; shopping for us more normal folk, H&M on every corner, quirky art stores, cafes and sushi places, movie theaters, museums, a lego store (that I spent an hour in), and street food.

Thomas took me to this one particular Pommes Frites stand (fries) to eat. All we ordered were fries "with white" (mayo), and the fries rivaled those of Dick's Hamburgers. We ate while watching children chase the pigeons in front of a church built in 1400 or something.

Thomas also took me to the zoo. Leipzig is well known in Germany for its zoo. It is huge, and we spent three hours and barely saw anything. The main attraction in the zoo is not the big cats, or elephants, or dolphin shows, its instead a huge enclosed building that looks similar to the sports "bubbles" seen on college campuses. Inside was a small river boat cruise, not unlike the one at Disney Land, and miles of dirt paths, stairways, and swinging bridges. You walked through the rain forest, seeing ant eaters on the ground, climbed through the trees to see birds, lizards, and monkeys of course. It was very cool, very warm, and full of children.

At my insistence we also toured the St. Thomas Kirche (St. Thomas Church) where Bach became famous and is buried (in the altar, like right in the altar). The church was closed. Thomas asked why, and found out there was a concert later by the Princeton Glee Club. Well that explained all the American accents I kept hearing on a weekend in January in a non major city in Germany. We waited for the concert and then experienced some beautiful music (sung in Latin) while admiring the church (as it was Lutheran it wasn't decorated as pretty as the Catholic churches, but still cool). Attending the concert was one of those spontaneous things that happen while traveling. I probably would never had the chance to hear a national award winning glee club sing classic Bach songs, let alone in The Bach Church. I loved it. And it was 40 minutes long, music and sermon, which was a perfect length. Because sung Latin Bach songs on a Saturday after I have been traveling for ten days can make one very sleepy.

 Bachy. Or Joe. He likes both nick names.

 Facing the alter, and the pulpit where the sermon was preached.

The Glee Kids moving about. 

After Leipzig I headed home. 12 days of travel through London and Germany was finished. And I was freaking exhausted. 

I arrived home at about midnight, and slept through the next day. When I woke the next afternoon, I went down stairs to get something to eat and greet my host family. Eliano stared at me for about five minutes before shrieking, "Ahma!" (his version of Amelia), and running to me on his short little legs, grunting the whole way. He is an adorable little fellow, and it warms my heart to know he missed me. 

To see more photos of Leipzig, check out my photo blog 

Its The Little Things

Things I miss about home that I didn't realize I would miss:

1. Free public bathrooms. Most bathrooms here, in train stations or malls, you tip the attendant (or place a coin in the machine so the door opens). This money goes to helping keep the bathroom clean, and some attendants clean after each person. Others don't seem to move. And others are non existent and you have to pay 1 Euro to use a port a potty like deal. 
2. Free water at restaurants. Water is not free, you get bottled water and at times its more expensive than soda, and is always the same price as soda. So I bring a bottle of water with me, and drink that at McDonalds or wherever we go. 
3. Free WiFi, except for Starbucks, most public places (including airports) do not have free Wifi. Really, its 2014.
4. Popcorn. Most popcorn here is kettle corn, and seen as normal popcorn. It is not. It is so not normal. 
5. All TV shows and movies from the US are dubbed over. Big Bang Theory is not funny when Sheldon does not have a higher pitched voice than Raj and when Raj does not have an accent. 
6. Still water. Its available here, and I can find it easily. But really I just hate sparkling water. Its so weird. Like a Pepsi on a severe diet. 
7. Stores, malls, and most restaurants being open on Sundays. In Germany, its a real day of rest. Want to browse the book store on the weekend? Saturday only. 
8. Free banks. Most banks in Germany charge a monthly fee to use their bank. 

Things about Germany I wish were the same in the US:

1. Two words "FREE EDUCATION", no student loans ever! 
2. Kinder Eggs. Its so sad that they are illegal in America. Because children can choke on the small toys, and you can apparently smuggle drugs in the hollowed out chocolate egg. 
3. No sales tax. That is lovely. Especially when learning a new language and currency. Although the Euro Store lady got a little testy with me when I asked her twice what the price was, and she then counted my items in front of my "Eins, zwei, drei, vier. Vier Euro." (four euros).
4. Dogs not on leashes, and really well trained. They just wander while walking with their owners and sniff and come up to you for a pet and then wander off. 
5. Dogs everywhere, on the trains, buses, in the malls, cafes, or patiently waiting outside the bakery for their owner, or carrying their OWN BASKET in their teeth through the farmers market. 
6. Almost everyone, including all hotels, don't use top sheets, instead use a duvet and cover. Which I love. I hate top sheets. 
7. My cell phone bill is less than 10 euros a month. 
8. Real hot chocolate can be found everywhere.
9. Crepes are street food. 
10. Curry Wurst
11. Really all the food. 
12. Mainly the cake. The cake is always epic. Always. 

3rd Time - Berlin, Deutschland

I don't believe there is anything in the whole earth that you can't learn in Berlin except the German language. 

- Mark Twain's Notebook




Berlin has long been one of my favorite cities. Why, is hard to explain. The city infrastructure can often been seen as dirty, gritty, grimy with graffiti and bits of fireworks. It can been seen as oppressive from its history, unwelcoming by the people, and where you can't find a decent American hot dog. 

I love Berlin. I love the history, how its steeped into each corner. Some buildings have charred brick, others bullet holes, some are modern and new, and a few older than the original American Colonies. A yellow brick line snakes through the better part of the city, showing were the wall once stood. Pieces of the wall still stand; the thick concrete and barbed wire barrier crumbling in front of the church, or the small artistically graffiti pieces standing tall in Potsdamer Platz, underneath the shopping mall. 

favorite part of the Berlin wall, taken on my first trip to Germany in 2009

I love Berlin. The food is unique to the city, the curry wurst is a must. The peppered sausage from the street vendors, the doner (a turkish food that is fantastic, lamb and salad wrapped in a pita like bread), the Berliner, a jelly filled doughnut. 

(Fun fact, when JFK gave his famous speech at the base of the Berlin wall, he stated, "Ich bin ein Berliner," he meant to say, "I am a Berliner (citizen)", what he actually said, was "I am a Berliner (as in the jelly doughnut)". The correct way would of been, "Ich bin Berliner." dropping the article all together.)

Brandenburger Tor (Brandenburger Gate) Iconic landmark of Berlin, built in 1791, the site of JFKs speech, and the symbol of the "door" to East or West Berlin

I love how the American embassy sits a block away from the Parliament building, across the street from the Tiergarden (Berlin's Central Park equivalent), and just steps away from where Tom Cruise tried to film a poignant scene for Valkyrie, but was shot down as Germany doesn't recognize Scientology as a religion and thought it would be bad PR to have a cult member on one of the cities major historical sites. (The historical site in question is the courtyard where members of the "20th of July Plot" were executed. The plot was one of the failed attempts to assassinate Hitler.)

Berliner Dom, (Berlin Cathedral) Built in 1454, first as a Catholic church, now it is Protestant. During WWII, a bomb fell right through the glass dome, through the church, and into the crypt damaging many coffins of German and Prussian royalty. 

I love Berlin. I love the history the city has for its country, for itself, for the world, and for me. This is a foreign city I have now visited three times (all during the winter actually). I have spent new years (called "Silvester") twice in Berlin. I have fallen in love, realized I was in love, and have learned a few words of Russian, all while in Berlin. 

Despite the grit and grime, the graffiti and thick accent, I love Berlin. It is one of the few foreign places I have felt at home. I get it. Or I think I do. But what I do know for sure, is that Berlin gets me. 

A Lock of Love on a bridge in front of the Berlin Cathedral. Very common in Europe to place locks on bridges to symbolize love. 

to see more photos of my time in Berlin, check out my photo blog: http://wanderersanonymous.tumblr.com

London Called, It Would Like Its Accent Back

And that's the wonderful thing about family travel:  it provides you with experiences that will remain locked forever in the scar tissue of your mind.  

~Dave Barry

My father is often right. Ask him to detail Lewis and Clark's exhibition, and he will almost nail it. Hand him a list of trigonometry problems, and he will gleefully not use a calculator. Ask him how to change a tire, and he will just do it for you. 

Just never ask him to speak in a British accent. 

So, really, never let him watch an episode of Julia Child, or take him to London. 

But, as most of you already know, we went to London. 

The famous Big Ben

London did not rain (until we left and Amanda and I were caught in a monsoon like deal as we sprinted from the taxi to the airport door). London was full of tourists. London was expensive. London had lots of shopping, lots of pubs, lots of places to eat fish and chips with peas, and from what I saw, no royalty. 

I mean, I realize its the holiday and they are out in the countryside hunting with fox hounds or whatever it is they do, but there was a reason we stayed only blocks away from William and Kate's current residence (or as dad called them, "Bill and Katie"). 

Kensington Palace, current resident of the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge, and as well as a bunch of the Queen's cousins. Former residence of Lady Diana, and first residence of Queen Victoria (she grew up here). Picture taken from Kensington Gardens

Other than the numerous books I have read on British Monarchs, and the few tidbits my dear friend Isabel has mentioned, I really didn't know anything about England, or London. From the books, I pictured palaces and town houses housing royalty and ladies in waiting at every corner. From Isabel I pictured lovely looking men. 

What I found was this:

1. People get confused when you ask for ranch with fries (I didn't ask, a sister did)

2. Walking Kensington Gardens and Hyde Park in the morning. A bit chilly, but absolutely lovely and you will meet more locals, and more local pugs. 

3. Stumbling across Peter Pan was quite magical. 

4. Seeing Platform 9 3/4 was not. 

5. You can find first edition, British edition, Harry Potter books for super cheap if you don't mind a small rip in the corner. 

6. Lovely food. 

7. Quite nice taxi drivers. 

8. Small hotels with cramped rooms have the best service. 

9. Traffic. 

10. I can't believe anyone ever actually lived in the Tower of London. Talk about fifty million winding staircases and super short entry ways. 

London was wonderful, and so was seeing the family. I was handed more chocolate and DVDs and books for presents, and it was like I was home. Mom got to shop on Notting Hill, Amanda got her bloody picture next to the Harry Potter landmark in Kings Cross, Anna took some wonderful shots with her fancy camera, Dad hit his head on many a stone that King Henry VIII probably was too short to reach, and I found a city that seemed magical, foreign, historical, and spoke ENGLISH. 

 London Tower Bridge, Thames River, Ship, Buildings

 Tower of London 

London Eye

Amanda and I then flew off to Berlin, one of my favorite cities in the world. 

to see more photos of our time in London, check out my photo blog: http://wanderersanonymous.tumblr.com 

Photos: Where to Find Them

So I suddenly realized that those people who don't use Facebook (such as my parents) may not be able to see all my photos. So, in stealing the idea from Julia and Max, friends who just back packed around Europe for a few months, I have set up a Tumblr photo blog. For those of you who don't know what Tumblr is, thats ok, you don't need too. On the photo blog, I will post pictures of all the neat things I see. And then you can live vicariously through my fabulous life. 

Photo Blog: http://wanderersanonymous.tumblr.com

Also I have Instagram: lila_in_blue 

Numinous

12 years ago I was about to turn 12. September 11th had happened a few months prior. I was in the 6th grade, started to wear contacts, and was hopelessly battling puberty. 

12 years ago I first saw my mother paint. 

She was working towards her Masters in Art in Education and her culminating thesis was an art show depicting the wheat and grain heartland in which we lived. She painted four massive paintings following the progress of the maturation of a stalk of wheat. She drew numerous colored pencil drawings of the beautiful grain. She wrote her thesis essay, a paper so long it could have been bound as a book. 

In the weeks leading to Christmas, she was painting.

I would spend my day at school, writing stories and thoughts to tell her on scraps of paper I would shove into my pockets. School would end, and my sisters and I would ride the bumpy bus ride home. Once home we would grab a few Oreos, my sisters would head to the TV, and I went to the basement. In the back room, a damp place with molding work desks and cluttered with boxes of taxes from 1993 and dad's old aviation books, my mother had set up her easel. Here she could fling her paintbrush and not worry where drops landed. She could blast music (from Creed and 3 Doors Down, to Trans-Siberian Orchestra and N*Sync Christmas) and be warmed by the diesel furnace that sat about twenty feet away.

I would settle myself on the old green couch, the upholstery a sticky plastic substance (the stickiness most likely developing from years of small children spilling koolaid) and watch my mother paint, while telling her about the contents of the notes buried in my pockets. She would listen, sometimes giving advice, other times sighing in a way that led me to believe I should be joining my sisters in front of the TV.

After the art show my mother's paintings sold, and I have always wondered where they currently hang.

Sometime this past spring, in the throws of a looming depression brought on by the boredom found after college and low income, I wandered into a nearby craft store. Before I knew it, I had drained my meager bank account on a beginners set of acrylic paints, a few small canvases, paint brushes, and a plastic storage container to hold it all.

I hadn't painted since high school, although I had always felt the need to. Setting up in front of reality TV, I got to work, and developed a new coping skill. When I am anxious, restless, and depressed enough to be unable to see bright colors, I sit and paint. When I am bored, when there are no new Dateline episodes online, when I want to give an unique gift, or amp up my online dating profile, I paint.

And recently, in the weeks leading up to Christmas, I have been painting. And of course, listening to Christmas music.

The only Christmas music I listen to is a few select songs from the Love Actually Soundtrack, and all music by Trans-Siberian Orchestra.

Those who know me know I am not a religious person. Going to Catholic Mass for me is more of a family tradition than it is worship. During this Christmas season, as the first away from my family, living in a house sparsely decorated, and in a city that has yet seen snow, the ritual of painting with the background of Trans-Siberian has brought me back to Christmas at the Mills'. With each potted plant draped in lights and bulbs, one (or two) trees decorated to the nines. Garlands and candles on the mantles, and Santa figurines on every surface. Outside there is always a few inches of snow, inside Dad makes a fire, mom works on needlepoint while Dad watches football. We are all covered in blankets with a dog or cat in our laps. There are stuffed moose wearing stocking hats in the bathroom, wreaths in each picture window, and lights edging the brick house. Religion is the tradition of a family.

When I paint, I remember that. And remember the person who makes it all possible, the person who first placed a paint brush in my hand (or a pen for that matter), who takes an entire Saturday to decorate the house, and an entire week to convince her husband its time to put the lights up and get the tree. She cooks the dinner, places the sugar cookie dough in the fridge to cool, and embroiders door hangers for each our bedroom doors.

I recently saw the pictures from  Lisa's wedding, where I wore a black dress and my hair pulled up into a tight knot. I was struck at how much I looked like my mother. Today, after breakfast (at noon, obviously, as its a weekend), I threw on jeans, a yellow t-shirt I work out in, and a denim button up. I wrapped my frizzy hair into a bun and stuck a head band on. I glanced at my self in the mirror, and again was struck at how much I looked like my mother.

I got to painting, and within the blues and greens and fumes, I began to have issues. I struggled with getting the strokes and colors just right. I looked away from the canvas and then back, and found the issue. As I tend to work on small canvases, most only 2 inches by 2 inches, I often hold the canvas close to my eyes to get the paint exactly where I want it. And I often have to look away and then back, holding the canvas at an arm's length to see the bigger picture.

And sometimes it takes traveling to a new home on the other side of the world, and tearing up whenever you talk about your mom, to see the bigger picture.

Other than my green eyes from the Mills, I am turning into my mother, and I couldn't have a better Christmas present.

Numinous: adjective, Latin: appealing to the higher emotions or the aesthetic sense. 

Culture

The term "culture" is a modern one. It derives from the roman "cultura animi" which translates to "cultivation of the soul". The term originally was used to describe education, and not whole bodies of people.

One of my au pair neighbors was recently talking about her experience in Germany, she arrived three months before I did. She stated that she was loving it here, and loved "learning a new culture." Although I understood her statement, it struck me as odd. This neighbor is European, and her hometown has more similarities with Marl than mine does. However, with each day that passes, I find less differences between the German culture and my own, small town American one.

This became apparent on Friday night when I was invited to a rock concert for a local musician who had won Germany Idol a few years back. His type of music is similar to that of Creed, but I was excited to go and get out of the house.

The music was very good, including the opening act that was a reggae German singer, who I just loved. The venue was an old, small warehouse with a stage at one end and a bar at another. Right outside the door there was a Curry Wurst and Pommes Frites stand. The air inside was foggy from lighting effects, and the floor sticky with spilled beer. There were few tables and chairs, and so we stood for the entire three hours. The musician was a small town boy at heart, and every year on December 6th (St. Nikolaus day in Germany), he returned home and held a concert, choosing a local musician to open for him. The crowd was filled with his old friends from school, adults who had seen him grow, and teenagers who idolized his achievement of "making it big".

It was a rock concert. Simple as that. Even though the lyrics were in German, and I could barely understand anything with the heavy bass, the music was fun, people were dancing, there was beer, and for a split second I thought I saw an old acquaintance from Whitworth. My mind quickly exclaimed as I took a double take, "No, can't be. Not here in this small German city." But a part of me thought, why not? I could see this particular acquaintance liking this music and coming for a beer and Friday night fun.

With the pounding of music in my ears, and my eyes blinking from the bright lights on the stage, I realized that where I was, was really no different than where I could be this Friday night in America. Other than the obvious language difference, and the amazing beer, nothing was different.

And yet, I often get asked, "How do you like the German culture?" A culture I tend to define by its overeating of bread and paving everything with stone and brick. The language is different, but if you listen you hear the same roots English has. The train schedules are hideous, but I have never lived in New York, London, or Rome.

And some may say its this modern era, everything has been westernized, changed to reflect the giant that is the United States. Blue jeans,  coca cola, Herbal Essences, all these are American imports. In this modern era, is there still true culture?

And I wonder, was there ever? Or was it humans living within their means, using what was available, but in essence not living any differently than their counterparts across the world. Love, hate, grief, comfort, those are all the same. No German questions my love of sleep, of cheese, or of fresh air.

I begin to believe that this is not a different culture I am living in, nor a different life. It is simply a house, across the street from a church, with a family who loves their young son, and planning to build a jungle gym in the backyard for him. They bought stones from the local hardware store to pave the walkway. They trim the shrubs, move the welcome mat when it gets soaked with rain, and hang Christmas lights. They sing songs to the child, closely video tape when he begins to walk, and let him play with the pots and pans.

Eliano's childhood is not much different than my own. He will grow to speak a different language. But his culture, with the cobblestoned streets and increased intake of bread, is that what defines him as different than me. Or is he more similar than an outsider would realize. We are all born with the same emotions, all babble in baby talk, all learn to walk with the same shaky steps. And other than a slight change in material values and appearances, I have yet to see a difference.

For I believe the modern term "culture" is overused. Perhaps it is just the cultivation of a soul, the education of one, about one's world.